Stills: From the Life of Quinn Fabray
by PeaceHeartMusicLove
Summary: A collection of one-shots about Quinn's life, from her first day of school until Journey. Pairings include Finn/Quinn, Finn/Rachel, Quinn/Puck, Puck/Santana. Slightly AU. Worth a read! T for future language  Puck's fault .
1. Chapter 1

Introduction:

Hello, I'm Christine :) This is my first fanfic, ever… so bare with me if it isn't that good.

I decided it to be about Quinn. She's my favorite character and I wanted to explore her past better. What follows is a collection of one-shots about Quinn's greatest achievements, important life moments or scenes that I felt were missing from the show.

As for pairings… there's a bit of everything (except for Slash). We'll have Fuinn, Fichel, Quick, Pucktana, Quartie friendship and an eventual St. Fabray confrontation… but let's not get ahead of ourselves ;)

There might be some ocs, but I'll warn if that's the case.

The time line is set from Quinn's first day of elementary school to the episode "Journey". If the new season premieres and I'm still not finished, the time span will always stop at Journey. Unless I decide otherwise.

Some chapters might be a bit AU, but nothing too extreme. Again, I'll warn if that's the case.

The POV is always Quinn's. I chose to voice her with a past sense so that I get more access to her emotions. It's like she gets to tell the tale, while reflecting on how she felt. In the early chapters, in fact, the narrator won't sound 6, but as she's still a teen, the approach is fairly simple.

Don't forget to R/R… even if it's CC (which is very welcome). If you guys don't review I won't update :(

Anyways, hope you like it :)


	2. Quinn's First Day at McKinley Elementary

**Quinn's First Day at McKinley Elementary.**

"Mom… where's the lunchbox?" I yelled from the kitchen.

"Umm… it's right next to the car keys" mom answered in a hurry.

"Yeah, but WHERE?" I scream louder, searching for my sparkly Barbie keychain, that's what always caught my eye when mom referred to 'the keys'.

Suddenly, my mother, in all her blond beauty, appeared in from of me. With one, swift, move her gracious arms grabbed the keys and handed me my pink lunchbox from a counter that was too high for me to reach.

She ran out of kitchen, kissing my dad goodbye and I realized that I had to go with her.

My heartbeat was crazy that day. I was never the girl who shrugged at academic events, starting my very own first school year was frightening and exciting, and at six, I was ready for every adventure.

God, I hope I don't sound too much like Rachel.

Before exciting the house I took a little last look at it.

"When I'll be back, I'll be a first-grader" I whispered, with a big, fat smile on my face and I closed the door behind me.

Mom motioned me to enter in the car. I quietly made my way to our silver Mercedes Benz SUV, holding on to my lunchbox like my life depended on it.

I remember the car ride, a mix of anxiousness and thrill with Smashmouth's _All-Star _as my soundtrack. I asked mom to raise the volume of the radio and I started dancing (better say moving my arms around) at the rhythm of the song not to piss on myself. It was like I was high or something.

After 10 painful minutes, mom pulled up in front of the school gate.

McKinley Elementary was just so big. It consisted of three large buildings and a huge internal field, famous for being the one that host Ohio's highly praised flower convention _Tulipaloosa._

I quickly kissed my mother goodbye, and I watched as she left. In front of me, tons of disoriented children were wandering around.

I was pretty smart for a first-grader, so I did the most sensed thing to do when I struggled with something: I searched for an adult figure.

Luckily, I found a woman with a warm smile, curly brown hair and ridiculously high wasted mamma-jeans.

"Sorry, are you my teacher?" I kindly asked. Yeah I know, wasn't I the smart kid? Hey, I was six after all.

The woman looked down at me sympathetically, she put a hand through my blond pigtails and said "No I'm sorry honey, but you can go to that lady over there" she pointed towards a woman with an auburn ponytail and a hard expression on her face, she looked annoyed.

"She's my son's teacher, I'm sure she'll help you find your way" continued the brunette lady, looking at me.

"Thank you very much, ma'am" I said, with the most six-year-old-innocent-smile face I could get.

"No problem, sweetie" she said reassuringly.

I headed towards the hard-looking lady. Little did I know that the woman I head just spoken with was going to save me from a homeless life 10 years later.

I recognized her son as soon as I saw him. Long, dirty blond-ish, split in the middle hair, and dark brown eyes. He was one, tall boy.

When I reached the woman though, she suddenly left, too quickly for me to follow her. The tall kid started talking to me, then.

"Were you looking for Mrs. Collins? She's kinda moody" he said. I simply nodded and observed him, he seemed so friendly, so warm just like his mom… they had the same beautiful smile. He offered me his hand.

"I'm Finn" he said with a smile, I took his hand and shook it shyly.

"Quinn" I said lightly smiling.

"Nice to meet you Quinn" he continued. I nodded again, after a while we just stood there, looking at each other, awkward silence filled the air.

"So..?" I asked, I thought he was going to tell me where Mrs. Collins went.

"So…" he replied. Dumber than I thought, he must have forgotten already.

"Mrs. Collins?" I try to recall.

"Oh… yeah… sorry, I got a little distracted" Finn hasn't changed much.

I looked at were his sight led, but the only thing I saw was an 'Emerald Dreams' van.

"She probably just went to talk to the principal or something" he said, shrugging.

"Wait… so you don't know where she went?" I asked. Finn was one confusing kid.

"Who says I did?" he asked.

Another few more seconds of awkward silence and something came up in his mind again.

He mumbled a few words and left. I was a little naïve though. I mean I thought that if a kid could tell me that a teacher was moody, he probably knew where she was going.

Behind me, I felt a hand touching my right shoulder. I turned around, ready to defend myself in case a stranger was attacking.

"You must be Quinn… Fabray" it was Mrs. Collins. Something in her reminded me of a ninja: running quickly, sneaking up from behind and the harsh face.

I couldn't help but smile at my own thoughts and let out a little laugh.

"I'll take that as a yes" she said, looking at her plastic clipboard.

"Follow my class" she said, turning around already. She was even wearing black! Mrs. Collins was definitely an Asian warrior. For some reason I couldn't wait to tell everyone about my discovery… especially Finn.

The bell rang and I followed my teacher's silhouette inside, finding my new friend along the way.

"Hey Quinn!" he greeted me with enthusiasm.

"You know… I think Mrs. Collins is a ninja" I said. I was never a random girl, but I wanted to demonstrate to him that I wasn't as boring as he probably thought I was.

"No way, I thought that too!" he smiled. I felt myself blushing and grinning timidly.

"But now that I look at her more she kinda reminds me of Severus Snape" he continued.

Woah, my older sister read me the Harry Potter books, I never thought he would know them.

This was going to be one, fun year.


	3. Quinn's First Holy Confession

**A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry! I'm sorry for being M.I.A for the last week. Greece had no internet connection whatsoever available and I really didn't think anyone would review or alert, which you guys did and I think you lots for :) **

**So I planned out the whole storyline for the next few chapters and I'll update if I can once a day (or maybe more... depends on the reviews). **

**This chapter is a mix between my idea of Quinn's characterization and a cute Quick moment (you can't tell that I ship them, can you? :P).**

**For anyone who isn't familiar with Roman Catholic, the First Holy Confession (I did mine when I was 8, so that's the age I decided for Quinn's) it's basically the first time you confess your sins to a Priest. It's a very important life of a Christian, but I thought of Quinn in another way, I don't know why I like her personality this much. I love to play around with it.**

**Review please, even if it's just one word or bullshit... I just want you guys to tell me if you like it. Remember, no reviews, no updates. :(**

**(Shoutout to TEAMFINN, thanks!)**

**Disclaimer: Sadly I don't own Quinn's personality or any character and I don't have any cool way to say it -_-**

**Hope you like it guys (:**

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**March 2003.**

I hated cycling. That's why, as soon as I could, I got a car. I apparently disliked the usual things that people seem to enjoy: the wind ruffling your hair, the smell of foreign surroundings, the feeling of freedom… No need to say that I was a peculiar girl. My parents always told me that feeling special makes you special.

Are special and peculiar the same thing in this context? I don't know, I still don't know.

Are special or peculiar a good thing? Definitely not. Trust me, with an experience like mine.

Anyway, I can't lose myself. Where was I? Oh yeah, cycling. You know, I almost forgot what it feels like to cycle. Every time I rode a bike, I always seemed to think about other things because of my less-than-poor interest in the sport.

The only time I can vividly remember was my walking, well cycling, home from my first holy confession.

My family is… actually was, one of the most religious in our neighborhood. I attended my first chastity ball when I was 13, I went to church regularly and, honestly, I was comfortable with God.

Comfortable.

Looking back, if my family wasn't there to support me and initiate me into Roman Catholic, I can frankly admit that I wouldn't have done it myself.

I mean, my sister answered my private questions and "taught" me my religion; she got me into attending the after-school classes and supported every decision I took, without limiting my beliefs. She was like… my God coach, if there is such a thing. But she moved out too soon, and, as much as I love my mother, she's not the woman who I tell everything (I think you know that at this point). She's the one that I need to comfort me. She's my home, my shelter.

But not my self-esteem.

And again, I lost my point. Oh the first confession. As I was saying, it wasn't exactly a "forced" process, but it wasn't completely natural either. It felt natural for_ me_ to do it, but… it wasn't illuminating. It should have been, I acted like it was, but deep down it was just a normal Saturday afternoon.

As I cycled I thought about the priest that accompanied me through the start of my religious journey (without counting baptism). His name was Adam… I think. It's sad; he died only several months after my confessions. He was a grumpy old man with a baldhead, dark brown eyes and a long, gray beard. He never smiled, but he was understanding. It was free from hardship with him, no judging.

Here's what I personally like about God, he is the one that doesn't care who I am, accepting me, no matter what.

I told Adam about when I thought curses, when I disobeyed my mother and when I insulted my teacher secretly, you know stuff that an 8-year-old does.

There was, however, this one girl I fought with a little too much. I started to cycle faster as the anger arose in my chest, and my head filled with her image: this girl with sun-kissed skin, chocolate brown eyes and black short hair. But all I could really picture was her signature devilish grin. Her plumped lips expressed her viciousness perfectly.

Santana Lopez was the enemy. She's always been the enemy. The thing with Santana is that even though you might have a decent relationship with her, if you're not Brittany she'll never even give you a chance as a friend. Of course, now there's the Puck thing between us, but leaving that aside, as soon as I did something she didn't like she got super-mad. She still does.

She's sort of like a storm. Ready to break out at any moment. But in third grade she was just… unbearable and diva-ish. Selfish. Yeah, the girl that wants all that she can't have.

I stopped, needing to calm down. When thinking about Santana I used to get too mad. Even worse than with RuPaul. But give me a break, I was 8.

I thought about rainbows, unicorns, butterflies, woods and fairies, but as much as I hate admitting it, there's only one thing that works every time.

Finn.

His cute face… it automatically makes everything sweet and good. I told him everything, he told me everything.

I smiled and ordered my feet back to the pedals. He also smiled, in my mind. He was my best friend.

But wait. You don't get bubbly and goofy with your best friend. I didn't use to do this stuff or feel this way since a couple of weeks ago.

We were playing in the seesaw, laughing and joking, and suddenly his face brightened and his smile made me feel better. I felt all nervous and nauseous.

I stopped my bike again. No. I was falling for my best friend. I didn't want to, but I did. When the realization hit me I put a hand in my blond hair.

"You're only 8, this doesn't happen to people your age" I whispered. But love's got no age, does it?

'Think of something else then' I thought to myself.

Perfect.

Obviously at that point there was only one face she associated to Finn: Tiffany Hergerd.

She was such an odd girl. Yeah I know, I said that I'm peculiar, but you couldn't tell unless you knew me deep down.

Tiffany even dressed funny. Weird overalls, mature shirts, boots and those plaid skirts. Yeah she was Scottish but still. We live in Lima, not Edinburgh.

She had those glasses, those green eyes and that wavy, always messy auburn hair. I wonder what happened to her…

Finn felt about Tiffany what I felt for him. And it secretly broke my heart. I knew about it because he told me… he liked the way she was and he started spending a lot of time with her. I was jealous.

'I wonder what if I was Tiffany…' I thought looking at the cloudy sky above me. Suddenly I felt a pressure in front of me, and I hit the ground violently. Ouch.

"Quinn?" I heard a voice ask.

I recognized this voice. One of the few familiar ones.

I sat up, thankfully realizing I hadn't got seriously hurt. I touched the back of my head in search of a suspect amount of blood, but found nothing.

The kid found me there, looking all messed up and massaging my hair.

"Need help?" he asked. As if he wanted to help me.

'Not yours' I was tempted to say, but it was March, still pretty cold over here and I had to make the most of any help I could get (especially since I didn't want to bike).

The boy, with long brown curly hair, narrow warm eyes and a wide rosy mouth, was standing in front of me, tending an arm for me to take. He looked almost concerned about me. Not possible, not for him. I decided to be naïve and took his hand.

Halfway through me standing up, he let go and I fell on the floor again, feeling more pathetic than ever. The boy in front of me laughed hardly.

That laugh.

"Thanks a lot, Puck!" I said, getting up by myself, realizing that what I hit before with the bike was a tree, a tree that I was now stuck in between and that I couldn't get up without help.

"Oh come on, can't you hold a little humor, Fabray?" he asked arrogantly.

I gave him a 'if-looks-could-kill-you'd-be-dead' stare, that caused him to laugh even more.

"Okay, you definitely can't" he continued. I crossed my arms like… my grumpy priest Adam.

"Not this humor!" I protested.

He tended his arm again, but I refused this time. I held on to the tree I was stuck in and tried to get up… failing miserably and falling once more.

Puck laughed again.

I felt like world's biggest loser. Hopelessly ridiculous.

"Come on, just take my hand" he said, offering his right hand.

I looked skeptically at him, sitting up.

"I won't let you fall" he said, strangely serious.

"Promise?" I asked, feeling more vulnerable than ever. I guess Puck has this effect on me, even when I wasn't in love with him... he could still make me trust him.

"Promise" he agreed.

I sticked out my arm and held on his hand, he pulled it gently and I got fully up. I straightened my rough-looking clothes and thanked him, still skeptically.

"Don't get too used to it" he said, leaving already.

"Used to what?" I asked turning around, to where he was headed.

"Me helping you" he said, riding his bike and cycling out, not interested in my response.

I shook my head sideways and whispered to myself:

"As if".


	4. Quinn becomes a bad girl

I always loved to travel. World is so rich and vast, there are endless things to discover every day. Granted Lima is a great place for inspiration (NOT) but traveling always made me feel happier about my life.

When I'm a little down, I always tune in some National Geographic lame documentary, just to remind myself that this place is beautiful and there are things worth seeing. It fascinates me.

But don't tell anyone.

Lately, however, I've been more into watching the pictures of my past vacations with family. You know, with all of the friends I used to have and the many social events that made my weeks, time for watching some of that nature stuff without getting caught decreased to zero.

Plus, I have Glee now. That also makes me very happy.

Anyway. Last week I found myself skimming through the stuff that was in the basement (my father said that he's buying a house of his own, he wants all of his things back), and I discovered an album full of pictures of mom, dad, Caitlin and I. It had our best memories of celebrations, vacations, funny moments and random pictures.

There was that time when we went to Africa in 2002 (Mom swore that she would never return again), New York in 2006, Melbourne 2004 and the best trip that I ever did so far.

Our 2003 European Tour. It didn't happen all at once, we saw bits and pieces of different places in different holidays: Christmas in Italy, Easter in Spain, summer in the Northen countries, but my favorite one was definitely Thanksgiving, when we went to Paris. Caitlin was bored all of the time, Mom caught the flu, but dad and I were a different thing. We took time to visit the Louvre and the Monnalisa. Honestly I don't understand all the hype about it: it's just a tiny, very old painting of a woman that looks like a man… no offense.

What really got to me when I went to the most famous French Museum of all time was the painting of one, powerful woman: Empress Josephine.

I don't remember the name of the painting, but I know it was from Jean Louise David. It represented the empress, in a gorgeous empire-style gown, kneeling over and getting crown.

I don't know how, but I could remember clearly what sensations that painting caused in me. As I saw how regal, elegant and classy that was, I had only one desire: to become a queen.

To be granted of the privileges only Josephine had, to get whatever I wanted, to rule. I wanted a crown, a royal title and a handsome husband.

My dad turned over to me and announced the title of the painting and its painter, with a slight sense of longing. Did he ever experience this?

Noticing my smirk, he observed, "You seem to like this painting a lot, Quinny"

"Oh, I do.." I was lost in the details to tell my dad why I liked it better than any of the religious ones. He simply laughed at my total fascination.

After 5 minutes of me observing (and absorbing) the scene in that frame, daddy said it was time to go. That's when I broke the first rule.

That's when I became 'the bad girl'.

Actually, not quite. Deep down, I've always been quirky and strategic. I always thought about the consequences of my actions, I was clever in a Machiavellian way.

I know, I know, it sounds like I'm describing Ms. Lopez, but we were more alike than I thought, all the Cheerios are like this. We all wanted one thing: popularity.

Thankfully, since Finn joined Glee club, my scheming toned down… but I'm definitely getting ahead of myself at this point.

Back to November 2003, there I am: staring at almost 200-year-old painting. My dad was hushing me to go, but I needed to stay.

I needed the essence of Josephine… I needed that painting.

No, my life isn't as exciting for me to steal a painting and get away with it as an 8-year-old.

I did a 'bad' action for my age. A 'bad' action I could not get caught in.

"Dad, do you mind going downstairs and getting me a water bottle, this art is so amazing I need some more time with it… and you're probably bored now so.." I needed him to go. My dad wouldn't have approved what I wanted to do, as pathetic as it will sound.

"All for you sweetie" he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead, I smiled as genuinely as I could.

When he was out of the room, I grabbed my digital Sony Cyber-Shot. I took a glance at the 'No Pictures Allowed' sign, that hung over besides the painting, and, with flash turned off, I pressed the silver button that was at the top of the camera lightly.

I took one, quick, perfect picture. Obviously the lightning had to be fixed, but Caitlin knew how to use Photoshop and she did owe me a favor after I covered for her, telling my parents that she was at her friend Alana's house last Saturday, not at a racy middle-school party.

Yeah, I could be a "bad girl" for all I wanted, but I still thought that Middle School was racy. Silly, naïve me, oh I miss it.

I turned around, faking to move away from the painting, and with hands and camera behind my back, I found myself taking dozens of pictures of one single painting.

"What are you looking at?" I hear.

My eyes are almost out of eyeballs. 'Yup, you got caught. Nice job 'bad Quinn'' I tell myself.

"Wha-wha-what?" I ask, turning the camera off and putting it back in my large pockets.

"You're staring at people Quinn, I never thought you'd… enjoy that. I saw you were captured in looking at the painting" my dad's, soft, calm voice said.

'You're still safe, thank God'.

"I've had enough of royalty" I laugh.

"Well, here's your water sweetheart" he hands me the clear bottle. I open it and take a sip.

Who knew that taking a picture of a painting would be the beginning?

Who knew that me getting pregnant would be the ending?


End file.
